My ♥ Belongs To New Edition

I'm only just now recovering from the awesomeness hangover I've had since Tuesday night.

For the last two days various New Edition and K-Ci & Jo Jo songs have been on hot rotation in my head. It's like a New Edition Pandora station in there, and it's as kick-ass as you'd imagine.

Everyone I know, including my poor, down trodden coworkers, have heard the story of my New Edition concert experience like, four times. With dance moves. Because, oh my god you guys, it was soooooo good.

We had a blast. Ninety minutes of dancing, singing, and hollering. And that was me. New Edition still has the moves, the sound and the slinky boy band R&B sex appeal they always had.

They came out on stage and I heard the beat to If Isn't Love and suddenly they were dancing just like they do in the video(!!!!) only on stage in matching suits(!!!!) and I'm not gonna lie, I went total 8th grade in there. Bouncing, screaming, singing. (It's singing when it's at the top of your lungs with everyone else, right?) I'd have probably let a few excited tears slip down my face if Ray hadn't been there.

I seriously almost needed to breathe into a paper bag I was so excited.

They threw it down on all the hits, Candy Girl, Cool It Now, Mr. Telephone Man ... and I picked it up and wiped it all over my face.

Bobby Brown wasn't there of course - We missed you Bobby B! - but NE made their boy proud without missing a beat or a dance step. Johnny Gil filled in for him saying he'd try to do Bobby justice but not to make fun him when he couldn't do Bobby's dance moves. But he sang My Prerogative and Roni like they were his own. They dedicated the show to Whitney and signed "I Heart Bobby Brown" posters for the crowd.

They each performed some of their solo stuff as well, which I loved. Ralph Tresvant had everyone at US Bank Arena singing his hit Sensitivity. Johnny Gill performed his panty-dropper My My My (what's up, Johnny, no Rub You the Right Way?)

But let me tell you, you don't know what living is until you hear the lyric, "Never trust a big butt and smile," live. BBD brought the house down with Poison. (Poison!) (Some how they chose When Will I See You Smile Again over Do Me, but whatever fellas.)

My favorite moment was the laid back, backwards-skate slow-jam, Can You Stand the Rain. I fell in love with strangers. I sang awkwardly to Ray. I stared with longing at the stage while I practically grew 80s mall hair and failed math class.

In my head I'm still singing in dancing in section 110, row O, seat 2.

My plan at the beginning of the night was to get Ray drunk so he'd have more fun. I was worried about him because over Nada tacos before the show I realized that Ray had absolutely clue who New Edition is other than the dudes who sang Candy Girl and Mr. Telephone Man.

"One of them is Bobby Brown, right? And another one is... Nick Lachey?"

Oh. My. God.

I crunched salsa and chips as loud as I could into my mouth to pretend I wasn't hearing what I was hearing. So I decided I'd get him drunk. Everyone has more fun when they're drunk!

But in the process I got kinda drunk too, making myself even more uninhibited and more boy band crazy. Oops.

Honestly, when it comes down to it... give me some R&B crooners, a cute boy to buy me a beer and a concert t-shirt (oh yes, and I'm wearing it to work tomorrow) and I'm pretty much the happiest girl on the planet.

It was the best Valentines ever. And I'm sure for Ray too.

I recorded Can You Stand the Rain with my phone. So if you're interested in hearing me ruin a perfectly awesome New Edition song with occasional screams and singing out of tune (and who wouldn't), you can watch it.

Seven Things

1. In case you missed it, the Giants won the Super Bowl, thanks to my dad's TV. Guess the jinx wasn't lifted after all. Curses.


2. Remember about 5 months ago when I was reading Anna Karenina?

Yeah well, I still am. And even though it's taking me forever, not because it's a long book but because it always takes me forever because I'm a lazy reader, it's really good.

That's right, that classic by Tolstoy is a terrific read. You heard it here first, folks.



Cassius loves it too.


3. Watching the Komen Foundation's PR meltdown is... kinda awesome, isn't it?

I want to be disappointed in them because I like to think organizations that make it their mission to eradicate breast cancer are above the political fray and kowtowing. But they're not. Not even close.

I think ol' Komen has been Krazy for a while.



Shop for the cure, y'all. Fried chicken! Batteries! Yogurt! Toilet paper! Perfume!

Gah. We're all "aware." Thanks.

Every October I find myself in the uncomfortable position of being anti the pink tinting that happens across the US. Too much tas-tas and boobies and pink ribbon teddy bear sloganeering and not enough of the very real shit that does down with cancer and its treatment.

Now ringleader Karen Handel has resigned. Meh. You can't just blame Handel when everyone else (Brinker, I'm looking at you) signed off.

But the question remains - Is restoring their ties to Planned Parenthood and severing them with Handel what Komen believes is right, or what they thought they should do PR-wise?

Either way, think before you pink, y'all.

4. I know all the cool kids are watching Downton Abbey these days, but the Wonder Years (best show EVER) is on The Hub every week night. Set those DVRs immediately for Kevin and Winnie, 60s strife, war and peace and coming of age.



P.S. Every love you've ever known pales in comparison to Kevin's love for Winnie. Fact. So don't even try. It is unparalleled.

5. I haven't had as much time to write lately because hell froze over and that deal I made with the devil to preserve my youth and vitality has come to fruition.

Which is to say instead of spending my evenings sitting on the couch like it's my job I've been doing that thing where you get your heart rate up and sweat and lift heavy things and run around like a crazy person.

"Exercise," I believe, is what the health officials call it. 

Weights. Running. Pilates. Yoga. Barre. Most days since like, November.

I don't know what switch flipped inside the motivation part of my brain, but I'm going with it until it switches back. *cue LMFAO, 'I work ouuuuut.'

Yeah, so I've been working out. Then I've been going home and mining the brownie pieces out of the Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ben & Jerry's, thereby undoing everything good I just did. I'm a winner.



6. I'm gonna be straight floatin' on a boat soon.

I've always been anti-cruise. More like terrified, really… by the people who cruise, I mean; not the boats or the water or being at sea.

Now I guess I will be one of those terrifyingly spoiled people climbing a rock wall on a ship, demanding booze, constant stimulation and attention from the staff.

Contrived "fun," woo hoo! (Also see: New Years Eve, birthdays, Las Vegas.)

But, I was told there would be cake all the fruit I can eat. So... I'm really excited about it now that it's planned.



I'm taking T-Pain.

7. I feel bad about about the dead polar bears who must be littering the Arctic right now with their thawing bodies, but hasn't winter been great?



At first I wanted it to blizzard at least once so I could call into work "trapped" and go sled in the park across the street - you can sled right into a drainage ditch - but now I don't even want that anymore.

That little bit of snow we got this morning was juuuust perfect.

Stage Direction: More Shirtlessness

I saw Ides of March, the political thriller where George Clooney and Ryan Gosling attempt to out-hott one another, sometimes in Cincinnati.

It's a pretty good movie, but it could have been spectacular. My thoughts to Clooney, who wrote, directed and starred:

• Ryan Gosling did not have one shirtless scene. Not even during the love scene. Seriously? Bullshit, Clooney. You did that so he wouldn't out-shine you.

• You also didn't have a shirtless scene. Clooney! What the hell is your problem?! This could have easily been added in. Picture it: Gov Mike Morris (that'd be you, George) as presidential hopeful relieves stress by running through Sawyer Park, shirtless. See, easy.

• Cincinnati looked great on the big screen, but I'd have preferred more. "The Oakley Women's Center" got the most play, and that's probably not even a real place. I don't know what I was doing exactly when you were filming, but my guess is that I was in my very cool Cincinnati apartment and was totally available for b-roll. Just sayin'.

I also saw Crazy, Stupid, Love recently, which is a funny and entertaining movie about the messiness of love, marriage, infidelity and new romance, also staring Ryan Gosling. But guess what, Goz gets shirtless in this one.



BOOM.

Rounding out my Clooney/Gosling movie watching season was The Descendents, starring George Clooney once again.



Damn this is a good movie. So nuanced, bittersweet and heartfelt that I didn't even need a gratuitous shirtless scene. I enjoyed all of the surreal, comic-tragic but ordinary moments in this movie. And there are a lot of them.

And Shailene Woodley, the girl who plays Clooney's foul-mouth, rebellious teen daughter, is phenomenal.

Bigger, Deffer... Badder

Four years ago when the Patriots played the Giants in Super Bowl XLII, my dad traded-up my parents' 40 inch picture tube TV (I think it even had a dial on it) to 52 inches of pure flatscreen high-defness.

When Brady crushed the Giants, my dad was going to see every pass in all it's plasma glory. 

But somehow, Eli Manning handed suave boy Brady his ass. No one could believe it, least of all my dad.

"I got a big screen TV to better see my team get whooped," my dad said.

He told me the next season that whenever he watched the Patriots play on his new big screen, they'd lose. But whenever he'd watch them on the small, crappy TV in the den, they'd win.

"It's my TV's fault whenever they lose," he said. "It's jinxed. It's not doing right by Brady."

The jinx was forcing him to choose between comfort and his team winning.

(This could also be why the Bengals, my dad's number one favorite team, lost the playoff game recently. He always watches them on the big screen.)

But last weekend my dad decided the tide has turned since that crushing Super Bowl defeat of 2008. The curse, he says, has lifted, thanks to Tim Tebow.

Sunday after the Steelers/Broncos game I called him to see if he watched that 80-yard OT touchdown run. We were both disgusted.

"I've heard all I care to hear about of ol' Tim Tebone," my dad said. "It's gonna be Tebone time on Saturday I'll tell ya, Brady's gonna show that boy how to play some ball, now. He's gonna look up and SNAP, touchdown!"

We continued to find new ways to massacre Tebow's name.

"I'm sick ol' Tim Teboner myself," I said. "It makes me want him to lose. Badly."

And no win would be sweeter, especially for my dad, than to watch Brady take the wind of out everyone's annoying Tebow sails.

But given the flatscreen's curse on Brady, I asked my dad where he will watch the game.

We have to provide the best outcome for our national nightmare of Tebow Mania to be over, I reminded him.

"On the big TV. Brady wouldn't let me down two times in a row like that," he said.

Hmmm... I'll be out Tebowing making snow angels just in case.

Tell Me It's Real

Last night I forced Ray to listen to New Edition songs until he agreed to take me to the New Edition Valentine's Day show at US Bank (with K-Ci & JoJo and El DeBarge, BOOM.)

I sang 'If Isn't Love' like I was Ralph Tresvant (even though my voice is lower than his.) I was four seconds away from breaking it down in the kitchen when he relented.

Starry eyed, I recounted how I listened to my 45 of Mr. Telephone Man over and over when I was in the fourth grade. I would play it upstairs, so I could crank it and dance around without my uncool parents hassling me about it.

They don't GET me. I wanted to be alone with Ronnie, Bobby, Ricky and Mike.

"I was a sophomore in high school when that came out," Ray said. "I was listening to Van Halen and Ratt… and Black Flag."

But what I heard was, "I loved them just as much as you, Gina, even if I was too old to be into boy bands."

I won't go into the finer points of why Can You Stand the Rain is the best slow jam ever and how many backward slow skates at the Idyl Wyld Roller Palace I lapped to this treasure, but just know if they bust it out Valentine's Day, Ray is getting mashed on.

I might even cry and pretend to pass out and stuff. 

34 days.

(Btw, have you ever heard Auto-Tune sound so smoooooooth. Hell no, you haven't.)

And Just Like That, It's A New Year!

You know who had the best New Year's Eve kiss ever?

Ray, me and this guy's head.

We spent NYE recounting 2011 over hearty plates of pasta and red wine at the bar at Via Vite, a score by yours truly.

By the time I remembered to call and get reservations everything was booked. The hostesses basically laughed and hung up on me.

No matter. Necessity is the mother of invention, right?

Ray's suggestion when he saw the packed bar was, 'Let's just go to Scary Arby's.' My invention was to scowl at people until they left. Thanks to my keen eye and hovering skills we not only scored two chairs but also - drum roll! - free olives.



We are not afraid to eat olives left by previous diners. (Ok, Ray's not afraid anyway.)

Maybe I'm a jerk for saying this, but I was stunned by how many people were at Fountain Square for New Year's Eve, drinking and toasting and eating cotton candy and popcorn. It was shoulder to shoulder, our own little version of Times Square, but with a Chocolate Lady Statue instead of a ball dropping.

I tried to get crowd shots but instead the first 10 seconds of my video is of the folks warm and cozy staring out of their rooms at the Westin, watching the rest of us shiver. Twenty seconds after the stroke of 2012 you can hear Ray say, 'Come on, kiss me.' We forgot to kiss because I was filming the fireworks Westin. Oops.

Which brings me back to the best New Year's Eve kiss ever... It looks like I'm trying to get away from Ray but actually I was saving our lives. The guy in front of me was practically on top of me. I was afraid we'd all topple over like dominoes. The whole sea of people at Fountain Square, on their asses because I tipped over.

But I stayed steady, my friends. If that doesn't say 2012 is going to be a great year then I don't know what does.

A Very Caliente Christmas

Tonight Ray and I are going to Nada to celebrate a few days off the Christmas spirit, because nothing says Merry Christmas like salsa and chips.

Feliz Navidad!

We also plan to look wintry but cozy, bundled up in colorful scarves and holiday sweaters while we stroll hand-in-hand and watch ice skaters and stare wishfully at the sparkling lights on the giant Macy's Christmas tree. I plan to live-tweet our adorableness.

Just kidding. I rarely tweet.

Then it's time to pounce into all that papery goodness. I'm excited to go out and buy myself whatever I didn't get, like this gorgeous necklace.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

Sugar Plums, It's Almost Christmas!

It's almost Christmas, you guys, which means something very exciting is coming up - an end to xmas music on the radio. Hooray! Merry Christmas, y'all!

Forced happiness. Unholy music. Inflatable lawn ornaments.* High calorie, low taste snacks. What's not to love?!

In spite of all that is reasonable and holy and sane, I am looking forward to the festivities this year. Ok, mostly I'm looking forward to the sides - stuffing, noodles, mashed potatoes, cooked carrots, sugar plums, wine.

Plus, I've been really good this year, so I'm sure that Santa's plan is to bury me in awesome gifts and holiday cheer.

Six days, people!

* I DO love inflatable lawn penguins. And this snowman. Is there an app that will map all of these things or something?

Party Like A Rock Star

The squared bottom red cups I brought to the lab holiday party today were a HUGE success. Everyone drank from them.

Initially I signed up to bring water from the bathroom to go along with all the snacks and treats other people were bringing, but these cups were pure holiday joy.

If you're having a party - holiday, dinner, birthday, what have you - consider inviting me. I bring my a-game.

Jack, Call Me

I can't get this song out of my head. So now you all have to deal with it. And by deal with it I mean scoop up the goo of your melted off face cause it's so awesome.

I could have also posted Iesha. (On the MONKEYBAAARS!) So, yeah.

Hell Yes, Taste of Belgium

Now that I've been to Brussels and am an expert on Belgian food, it's only right that I should review the new Taste of Belgium bistro in OTR.

My review: It's terrific. Go there immediately. (12th and Vine.)



The space is airy and lively, it has a bar/counter (I will eat anywhere that has a counter), as well as a bonus counter where you can watch them make pastries.

The service is great and the food is delicious. (This photo doesn't do it justice - it was busy both times we were there.)

I had the vegetarian crepe (spinach, red peppers, goat cheese, balsamic) and added some turkey for protein. Ray had The 'Nati, which was goetta and some other stuff, I can't remember exactly, but who cares because mine was better, so get what I got.

And the crepes are made with buckwheat, bonus.

But the real highlight was the frites. (I can say frites now that I'm practically Belgian.)

Yes, I ordered fries for brunch, with a crepe. Don't judge.



You can't go to a Belgian place without getting frites and since I ate my way through a cone of these babies one night after a full dinner in Brussels, I had to try the local version.

Taste of Belgium uses chipotle mayo for theirs, and to that I say, Hell yes, Taste of Belgium. *applause

But I will tell you this. Ray is a greedy mofo when it comes to the chipotle mayo. You get one container with your frites, and sure, they'd have given us another one, but that's not the point. The point is that we shouldn't eat two containers of chipotle mayo, so I was all, "Ray, easy on the mayo, we gotta make it last through this whole cone of fries."

And Ray was all, "LAY OFF ME AND THE MAYO!"

Geezus.

That's why he's smiling in this photo. Because he got the better of the chipotle mayo.



We love it so much we went back the next weekend (and because it's practically in Ray's backyard) and this time we both had the turkey and cranberry waffle sandwich, which was the weekend special. I was cagey at first about a waffle sandwich. I was wrong to be cagey. Fear not, my friends. You'll dig it.



On your way out, or if you're just dropping in for coffee (from Coffee Emporium), there is a case of pastries, cookies and waffles at the front you will absolutely swoon over.

The place is just about perfect.

I saw Wine Me, Dine Me there snapping photos, so look for her review if you actually want to read an articulate review by someone who knows about food.

Or you can just trust me, being that I'm an expert in Belgian food and beer because I ate and drank there. (Totally qualified.)

Santa Prep

Ray and I got the apartment ready for Santa's arrival, where he is certain to bring us everything on our list:

• Pretzel M&Ms
• Snow on Christmas Day
• (new) Used records

Tall orders, we know, but we made this video for him... and Ray does the robot!

We're gonna be buried in M&Ms and snow. *yes!

xxox
Gina and Ray

Gobble, Gobble

I hardly slept a wink last night.

My mom kept me up late watching the finalé of Dancing With The Stars.

Except she calls it, 'Dances With Stars.' Kind of like, 'Dances With Wolves.' It's a Native American dancing show now.

Ray and Susie were on their way to Natural Bridge for Thanksgiving and stayed over last night. Which meant yours truly got to slept on the couch after 'Dances With Stars' was over.

My mom was torn between JR and Rob winning.

'Rob is so sweet... even if he does have a big butt,' she said. 'But JR is really good. He's a natural. Rob had to improve a lot... because he kept sticking his big butt out.'

I'll not spoil the ending for anyone.

It was good to have them 'home,' even if they did insult my tv - 'It's so tiny! Does that thing have a tube in it?!'

Tomorrow Ray (my boyfriend, not my dad) and I will be heading to Kentucky to join them for turkey and stuffing. *and visions of pumpkin pie danced in my head

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Imma Be A Reverend!

From Halloween, 2008. This was a really, really good look for us. She should wear my 'wedding dress.'

No one sane lets me do anything at their wedding but eat, drink and sometimes break it down to Rob Bass' It Takes Two.  

So a few weeks ago when my best pal Missy asked me to officiate her wedding, well… I just stared at her.

I was waiting for her say, "Just kidding! Hahaha! I'm having someone uncrazy do it! Woo - you should have seen the look on your face!"

But she didn't say that. So finally I said, "Really?" very hopefully, like, 'Really? Truly? Me?! YES!"

And then immediately the Princess Bride wedding scene entered my head - MAHWIDGE. Mahwidge is what bwings us, togever, tooday. And I envisioned cracking up everyone with my super spot-on impression.

This is why people don't ask me to do things at their weddings.

But instead the themes I'm going for in my first role as officiant are: Sweet, fun, romantic and light-hearted.

Tan, gleaming blonde hair and kick-ass dress will just be unexpected freebies for the guests.

I feel like I also need to be in shape, have super white teeth and basically just allow my inner glow to radiate.

Wait, who's wedding is this? I'm Reverend-Zilla.

Jk.

I've already started outlining what I will say, how I will welcome the guests, how I will introduce Missy and Josh, and what best captures the love and romance and hope that weddings are all about.

Geezus, I hope I don't cry.

Missy will most certainly slap me if I do, which could mess up her hair, and I don't want to get slapped again just because she didn't use enough spray.

Basically, what I'm saying is that I have only 10 months to plan for this and already I am panicking. For the love God send me your ideas a-sap! And make it funny and sweet and lovely and light-hearted and romantic, will ya.

Thanks!

Score One For The Minions

Oh, this smug look?

Because it was pouring down rain when my package arrived at another building. But you know who was in that other building for a meeting? The Boss Man. So rather than walk outside to get it, I enlisted the help of an admin.

"Can you have Dr. Boss Man bring my Amazon package over when he leaves. It's very important."

"Hahahaha! Ummm... Ok, I'll tell him!"

The package contained my new origami iPad case and two instructional ballet DVDs.

He came back wet and kinda pissed.

Totally worth it.

How To Occupy Those Cold Winter Months (Mostly)

"In my early twenties, that’s when I really began to write. Before that, I was too busy working, keeping myself going. I often thought of killing myself but then I wanted lunch. So I had to make a buck. And all my stories were rejected. I sent them out to various editors and they returned them. In fact, I had to wait until I was in my late twenties before I sold a couple of stories to what was then called the Negro Digest. I still have them."

From the Paris Review's Q&A with author Paula Fox, who I had never heard of until I read this interview. Great stuff.

And I hope you're not busy for like, the next three months because look - The Paris Review's legendary series Writer's At Work, where authors discuss their lives and craft, are right here.

Each decade's greats - Hemingway, Capote, Ellison, Didion, Faulkner, Nabokov. A staggering list.

According to Wikipedia Nabokov's interview was cut short when Jeopardy came on. I don't know if this is true, but God I hope it is. I totally get it, Nab. Jeopardy is awesome.

I'll be busy the entire winter reading all of these. Thank God for the iPad, and I never thought I'd say this, but for cold weather.

A Science-y Post For My Third Favorite Scientist

Look everyone, I'm a scientist. Conducting research.

Aren't I a natural, leaning into the microscope so quizically. Hmm, interesting. Interesting indeed... I shall write this into my lab notebook.

Thanks to my scientist colleague Patrick, I am looking at HeLa cells, the most famous cells ever.

Patrick knew I was on a mission to see these little babies in person after The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks came out, so he was all, "Hey babe, I got those cells you wanted to see." And I was all, "Meet you in the lab, babe."

(Because Patrick and I are friends in a sweetly condescending way.)

Then he told me why he needed the HeLa cells:

"We're looking for mutant protein something-something, so we can transfect the cells to see something-something; and then if we can get the aggregate to something-something, then we'll understand how it impacts the genome, gene by gene, something-something."

Which sounded very interesting but mostly what I heard was "blah-blah-blah" because, "Ooh, neato! Cells! And they move if you stare at them long enough!"

Then I think Patrick mentioned replacing the cell's catalytic converter and fixing the Johnson rod, but who knows... I was busy considering the medical impact of these microscopic blobs, which have provided the building blocks for countless breakthroughs, including the cure for polio, AIDS treatments, gene mapping, fertility and our understanding of viruses.

My desk is only about 20 feet away from this spot, so basically if Patrick discovers any breakthroughs, I will be right there.

God I love science.



This is Patrick looking at the same cells. He doesn't look nearly as science-y as I do.

Home Again, Home Again

A month ago I was traipsing around Europe all wide-eyed and impressed by every single little thing in life - Look, Euro girls where panty hose under their shorts!; Parisians sit on the Seine River bank and get crunk!; the fries in Brussels are slathered in mayo, amazing!

And a week ago I was in Boston sipping salted caramel mochas, eating Italian food, dancing in bars and watching strapping, sporty hotties oar down the Charles River with my besties.

And what am I doing this weekend? Well, look out for this crazy train, y'all. I caught a cold on the plane (aka, those petri dishes of infection known as the contagious skies) so my weekend will involve soup, reading and having way less fun.

Talk about your all time slaps in the face.

Traveling, good food, new cities, exploring, great friends. It's all over too soon. The world opens, then it closes again.

Being home is great because you can get all the gas-free tap water you want, but everything else is... grim.

The only thing traveling does is make me realize all the amazing things I am missing elsewhere, like Brits with good teeth and the mushroom ravioli at Trattoria di Monica.

I can't even bear to set out my souvenir coasters of the Eiffel Tower because I'm so damn sad I'm not in Paris anymore. (But I know what you're thinking, 'Damn girl, those coasters are terrific. I can't wait to sit a glass of iced-tea on one.')

And I've already wore the new boots I bought in Boston, twice. (Sadly, clicking the heels of them didn't transport me back to boot shopping on Newberry Street with Julie and Kari.)

Maybe this cold is a good thing. Force myself to finally, officially unpack my suitcases, unwrap my souvenirs, do some laundry.

Just kidding. All that sounds horrible. Denial ain't so bad. At least it comes with all the tap water I can drink.

Cassady Wants His Latte Like, Now

Ray. Ray! Are you awake?

Hand me my pumpkin spiced latte, will ya? I'm so exhausted from trekking around Ikea and DSW I literally cannot take another step. Haha, don't you hate it when people say 'literally.' But seriously, I literally cannot take another step.

Ray? RAY?

Ok well, I asked you nicely. It's your funeral now, mister.

I ♥ Boston

And these lovely ladies.

Happy Birthday To Me

Ray (inspecting my head, eyes widening): Wow.

Me: What?! It's lice, isn't it. I knew I had lice!

Ray: What? No, you don't have lice. (pause) It's worse. You have tons of gray hair.

Me: Oh. You think that's bad, look at this. *points to gray streak in the front, like that chick from What Not to Wear

Ray (*eyes bigger): WHOA.

Me: It's not me, it's my genetics.

Ray: Your genetics says you're old, and you need a dye job.

Me: Pshht. And a new boyfriend.

But I forgave him. What Ray misses in tact he makes up for in little blue boxes and fancy birthday dinners. With age red wine comes indifference wisdom.

Besides, what I lack in hair pigment I make up for in high heels, boxed brownies and laughing until I cry. Plus, I almost never turn my laundry pink anymore.

Youngins', you can't hold a candle to that.

Doing It For My Country

Everybody, quick! Get out your credit cards - let's share a cold one with Uncle Joe.

USA! USA!

Vigorous Biking Ahead

About 100 million years ago I got this bike rack at Meijer for $40. Because when it comes to securing a bike (or two) on the back of my car, I want quality.



In spite of my fears, not once has a bike bounced off into the street and caused a horrific accident. Until then, we roll.



This weekend we rolled around Lunken. Twice. We had to eat bananas and protein bars in between loops.

Just a couple of athletes doing the athletic thing, you know.

Afterwards we ate Graeter's in the park because we were still feeling 'outdoorsy.'

Cause Baby It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over

Tomatoes are still ripening on the vine.

Saturday we rode bikes.

Sunday I scootered.

And I'm sitting on the balcony in shorts and t-shirt.

Suck it, fall.

'Stay Hungry, Stay Foolish'

It's impossible to state the impact Steve Jobs has had on my life.

I've been using Apple computers almost exclusively since middle school. I learned to type, design newspaper pages, edit photos, appreciate typography, create movies and blog all on Apples.

My first byline was written on an Apple computer in 1991.

Tonight I learned via a text message on my iPhone that Steve Jobs died.

He is the only CEO I can imagine shedding a tear for, and I feel sorry that we've lost a true innovator.

*hat tip

"Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart."

Steve Jobs, 2005

Do yourself a favor and watch this video, or read the transcript.

C'est Magnifique

Or I should say, it was magnificent. I am home now and NOT happy about it.

The trip was absolutely magical and I enjoyed every single moment of sightseeing, wine, cheese, chocolate, beer and complete exhaustion.

Another blister from walking all over Europe, well then, YES please!

The Paris subway door nearly ripped off my arm, oh, that's ok!

I'm an idiot American who speaks only one language while everyone else speaks at least three, insult me, I deserve it!

Since I landed in the good ol' US-of-A I have done nothing but plot my return, mostly to Paris. London and Brussels were wonderful stops, but it was Paris that stole my heart.

It's impossible to not gush whenever I tell anyone about the trip, but especially Paris. The narrow cobblestone roads, the Parisian booksellers lining the streets of the Latin Quarter, the sun shining on the French architecture and the gorgeous bridges spanning the Seine.

Paris feels magical because it looks magical.

It seems impossible to miss a place where you spent only three days, but already I feel nostalgic. I was explaining to my mom why I loved Paris so much and I felt almost melancholy thinking how beautiful it all was and how I might not ever see those things again.

I want more blisters! I want another bruise from the subway! I want more crappy French service! (Though to be honest, the service wasn't bad at all and no one insulted me not even once. Disappointing.)

I took 540 photos of the trip, 354 of them of Paris, many of them idle street and café shots in the hopes of burning them into my memory.

Isn't it gorgeous?








The last few days I've started and stopped a dozen blog posts about the trip - the majesty of the Arc de Triomphe and the kinda awful but mostly hilarious story of me peeing my pants there (oh yes, it's true); how being in London was like one big BBC comedy to me; my new friend Nibila who graciously showed me all around Brussels on her day off. So much to remember.

There are so many stories that my mind hasn't filtered through them all yet. So look forward to European travelogues for the next year or so. Hooray! (Drinking French wine, Belgian beer and eating chips is strongly encouraged during such travel reading. It's only fitting and totally not your fault if you get hammered.)

What's Up, Ding Dongs

Hey ummm, does anybody know where I can get a snack-cake?



Oh wait, what's this here, at my desk?!

How about 168 Ding Dongs covering my cubicle, phone and computer?! How about 30,240 calories worth of Ding Dongs?! How about 1,512 grams of Ding Dong fat, hmm?!

Wow, but you know what would make this better? If they all had some kind of message on them, like, I dunno... a greeting or an action verb of some type.





My God! By all the twinkling stars of bountiful heaven, look! They all say, "Eat Me!" on them. They're commanding me to love them even more!

I am beside myself in cream filling over this. This is revenge, people. Sweet, sweet revenge.

See, a few weeks ago I accused the Boss Man of throwing a Ding Dong at me. At first I thought it was manna from Heaven because it came hurtling down at me from the floor above, and besides that, no one in their right mind would launch a perfectly good snack-cake at someone.

It had to be sorcery... The kind of sorcery the Boss Man practices, that is.

So I sent him an email that basically said, "I know you threw that Ding-Dong! Don't deny it because whoever threw it had a bad aim and I know your arm is all jacked up, in addition to being pale and hairless! Confess, cupcake abuser!"

Officemate Carolyn tried to intercede: "Boss Man prefers a marshmallow gun as his weapon of choice," she said, which was a really good point because it's totally true. "Unless he really did throw a snack cake, then that is indefensible and wrong." Also totally true.

The Boss Man responded hours later with something watery like, "How DARE you! You want Ding-Dongs?! I'll show you Ding-Dongs!!!"

That was three weeks ago.

Monday morning I saw my cube and at first I was like, "Ack! I've been Ding Dong'd!" But then quickly realized, "Awesome!"

If this is revenge then I am all for it, and so is Hostess. (But Little Debbie, oooh is she pissed.) Ha, jokes on him, I love Ding-Dongs. Everyone loves Ding Dongs.

Who's you're best friend now, hmm? It's me, isn't it?! ME!

Today I turned them into one of the wonders of the world, pyramids. Tomorrow I will try for Stonehenge.

Party in my cube, y'all!

Bombs Away

You wouldn't know it from reading this blog but I have a stack of books on my nightstand that I swear I'm going to write reviews of one of these days.

I know you all are riveted.

My God, Gina, how DARE you make us wait for your opinion on Mishna Wolff's, 'I'm Down.'

(My opinion is it's funny and moving and wonderfully-written and basically I hated it because I didn't write it; but you should read it and we'll go out for drinks and chat about it because it's not often in book discussions you get talk about race relations and socioeconomic status as well as Kangols and Doug E. Fresh.)

But to hold you over, I stumbled upon this spectacular list of Author-on-Author insults at Flavorwire, including this Mark Twain take-down of Jane Austen (1898):

"I haven't any right to criticize books, and I don't do it except when I hate them. I often want to criticize Jane Austen, but her books madden me so that I can't conceal my frenzy from the reader; and therefore I have to stop every time I begin. Every time I read 'Pride and Prejudice,' I want to dig her up and hit her over the skull with her own shin-bone."

I laughed out loud.

I've never read any Jane Austen, but I understand the sentiment. (I happen to feel the same way about Elizabeth Gilbert for Eat, Pray, Love, which should have been titled, Eat, Pray, Hit Elizabeth Gilbert With Her Own Shin-Bone.)

I'm just jealous no one paid me gobs of money to type a bunch of babbling crap and bind it.

The comments to the Author-on-Author insults are tremendous too. And while you're there, don't miss the Musician-on-Musician take-downs.

Expatriés, Paris

"Please god, let me go to Paris someday and let me go to the wrong restaurant and let me be treated rudely by Parisians and let me wander randomly, not knowing where I am going, confused, and find myself in some less than wonderful café, eating less than the best food and having a glass of not particularly good red wine. What better thing could you hope for - my god, it's Paris!" - Anthony Bourdain, in this hilarious travel video

In 14 days I will be in Paris.

If it's sounds like I'm bragging, I am.

I've never even been to Canada ok, people. Don't take this away from me.

I've been practicing on my iPad how to have conversational French with crappy waiters, pouring over maps, breaking in shoes and already I've packed my bag, unpacked it and packed it again only with more protein bars and Pepto tablets.

Every since I read this staggering Jacques Prévert poem I've been dying to go. (A 43-word poem that captures better what a million words could never.) And now I am so excited I can't believe I ever thought of anything else.

The beauty of it is other than seeing Parc Montsouris (that's French, y'all) from the poem, I have no agenda per se, other than to walk around and see the city and the sights, eat bread, drink wine and sit in cafés. And I can't think of anything more delightful than getting lost in Paris, hopefully in the Latin Quarter where all the bookstores are.

Though truthfully, I probably won't get lost. Ray (my boyfriend not my dad) went last year (I'm basically his hayseed girlfriend) and we are traveling with two friends, one of whom speaks French and doesn't consider it a good year unless he's gone to Paris.

So basically my job is to sit back and be awed. That, I am good at.

My biggest concern is how I'm going to get Anna Karenina to Europe. Because why wouldn't I be reading a 950 page tome instead of a reasonably sized, easier to travel with book. Usually I don't even read books this long because it's not my fault the writer needed a better editor and I don't have that kinda time, but at 150 pages in, I gotta see how this unfolds.

Anna is heavy and bulky and I don't really want to carry a big book around, but I can't commit to reading on the iPad quite yet. It feels like... cheating. And is there a better time to read Tolstoy than being trapped with it on a plane for 16 hours round trip? Hell no.

So Anna is coming with me, I'm just undecided in what form.

Anyway, I should go... I'm heading to Target to buy one of those posters of the Eiffel Tower so I can hang it in my dining room so when people come over I can be all, "Oh, I've always loved Paris... and I totally got that at a street fair on the Champs-whatever-it's-called.'

Hit Me With Your Best Shot, Irene

This is a crappy photo but you can feel Pat's rockin'ness if you look close enough.

My weekend was supposed to be wine and friend-filled in Boston. It was to be glorious.

Instead I was stuck in Cincinnati thanks to that bitch-troll Irene.

But when life gives you hurricanes, you just add rum, right? Or in this case, Pat Benatar!

I remembered at exactly 7:49 p.m. that one of my '80s idols was hitting the Taste of Blue Ash stage at 9 p.m., and I quickly texted everyone I know, "OMG Pat Benatar at Taste of Blue Ash, We Belong!"

I stared at my phone anticipating the vibrating explosion of excited texts from everyone canceling plans to roll with me and see this amazing female rocker.

Instead, crickets.

My friends are losers. (You all know who you are.)

So I went to see Pat, alone... because that's what Her Bad-Assery would have wanted.

I raced to Blue Ash praying, "Look, Jesus... please let Hurricane Irene skip the coasts, cause no deaths, inflict minimal property damage, and ummm, oh, by the way, for the love of God, don't let me miss a minute of Ms. Benatar!"

Ask and you shall receive, people.

All Fired Up was playing when I rolled in. Though not a mega-hit like her others, it's one of my personal favorites and if you don't have it on your iTunes then I feel sorry for you because it is a hard-rocking stadium smoker sang by one of rock's most iconic singers and it totally will rock your Arcade-Fire-listening ass off. (So here it is; right click and you too shall receive.)

I squeezed past the throngs of people who had been staking their claim for hours swilling Miller Lites, saw a narrow little opening atop a retaining wall and slid in with the help of some dude who helped pull me up the step.

And Pat. Well, damn. She lit-it-up.

Her voice, still fierce. Moves, she's got 'em. Her hits, she sang them all.

She was way bigger a force than Irene.

We will be invincible!

Sunday's Forecast: Sunny With Lots of Snark

The Boss Man is having a pool party for the lab, and since I sit near the lab and sneak slices of their pizza before lab meeting, I was reluctantly enthusiastically invited. (Carolyn said she had to force the Boss Man's hand into typing my name on the invite, and he winced while doing so.)

I graciously accepted because I know it's not a pool party unless I'm there to retell my near-drowning story. (Get excited everyone!)

So, what is the protocol on wearing my barely-acceptable-as-dental-floss string bikini to this thing? (Ok, I don't really own a bikini like that.) I mean, I have huge assets I like to show off. You know what I'm sayin' - huge ASSeTs. (Actually, I'm built like a tween girl.) And I don't know if the people who sit near me are prepared to see me coming up outta the water all voluptuous and mermaid-y with water streaming down me. (I will look like a wet rat.) They're just gonna feel bad about their bodies after seeing how tan and fit I am. (I don't need the criticism of how pale and outta shape I look nearly naked.)

And wait 'til they see my swimming and cannonball prowess. (I'm only good at swimming underwater and in pools, clearly I'm no good in the ocean. Plus I'm afraid of smacking my legs, so I won't do cannonballs.) You should see the incredible splashes I can make! (Cause I'm actually kinda drowning... again.)

I'll probably hang out in the pool the entire time and teach other people's kids how to swim. (If I hang out in the pool very long I will certainly end up with a uti, which will force me to call in late the next day while I go pee in a cup at my doctor's office. What is the proper way to communicate to your Boss Man that his pool party gave you an infection and now it burns when you pee? Is "hoo-ha" an appropriate term you can use in this instance? That's scientific, right?)

Mna, I love swimming! (Which is to say, I like sitting by pools reading magazines.) So I am pretty excited about this par-tay! (I hope I don't fall down and break anything. But if I do, it won't be the Boss Man's record collection because I already swiped all the good vinyl from his house.)

And speaking of the Boss Man and my near drowning (hey, did you guys hear the story about how I nearly drowned in a ripcurrent?), the Boss Man was in China when it happened was only able to just this week insult me about it. Talk about waiting with bated breath!

It went down like this (and I'm not making up one single word of this, I swear to God he actually said this to me):

Boss Man: I would think someone like you, who's had true life changing experiences - death of a sibling, cancer - would be aware of their mortality, and not get into the ocean when the sign says DANGER Ripcurrents, No Swimming.

ME: The sign posted at the beach didn't say that. The sign at the beach basically said, 'Welcome to Rehoboth Beach, there might be ripcurrents.' The sign you saw me jokingly posed by was at the lifeguard house in case of severe danger; it was not posted that day at the beach. There were hundreds of people in the water. And I am fully aware of my mortality, thank you very much.

Boss Man: Oh, I thought the sign was posted right at the entrance, 'don't swim here,' and you just walked past and laughed and hopped in the ocean anyway.

ME: What kind of an idiot do you take me for? You think if it really said 'Don't Swim Here, Ripcurrents,' I'd have Baywatched my lily white ass out there anyway?

Boss Man: Actually, yes! I thought that's what you did!

ME: This conversation is over. *turns to walk away

Boss Man: Sit down right there, missy, this is your fault. Your writing lacks clarity. This is a learning experience for you, and I am your mentor. Let's talk about how we can make your writing more clear.

ME: I wish I had drowned, then I wouldn't have to have this conversation.

Boss Man: Well, I am really glad you didn't. Life would have been far less entertaining... and I wouldn't have anyone to steal lunch from.

Then he left me standing in the lab while he waltzed off to probably go steal half-eaten food from my trash can.

Thanks A Lot, Jerks

Turns out, everyone has nearly drowned in a rip current.

Ok, not really. But I've heard several similar stories from friends and colleagues, but none them were saved by super buff lifeguards like I was. So theirs doesn't count.

As I was writing my mostly serious but sometimes joking blogpost about all this last week, Ray was writing a thank you email to the Rehoboth Beach Patrol.

Which is surprising really because all he talks about now is how much he hates lifeguards, and I'm like, 'But wait, they totally saved me, and you by extension since your ass was probably gonna drown too trying to pull me in.' And he's like, 'Yeah, but why did it have to be super-buff lifeguards who my girl wants mouth-to-mouth from, why did it have to be ol' buff blue eyes who came for you... Why not a lifeguard with a cleft lip, or one of those hot buff chick lifeguards?!'

Ray is really selfish.

Except he really isn't. He's been a firefighter/EMT for like, 20 years, so he takes rescuing people kinda seriously, and therefore, not surprisingly, he spent a good deal of time beating himself up for us needing a lifeguard.

And to that I was all, "Ray, you're a firefighter, not a flotation device. Had I been ON FIRE you'd have been really handy, but I wasn't. ...And you don't float well, by the way."

And speaking of helpful things to say, here are a few gems people have said to me when hearing about my adventures at sea.

• Those are rough waters there! Why can't you vacation at the Gulf?! Or the Caribbean where the water is smooth as glass, hmmm?!

• If you vomit up sea water I'm gonna freak out.

• Not sure whether you owe Ray for risking his life for you or if he owes you for the entertainment. Probably a push.

• Gina, were you drinking?
(the answer is no, not a drop.)

• Why would Ray feel responsible, it's not like he's a Navy Seal.

• Ooh, beach wedding! You can get married in the surf. But I'll stand on the shore and watch because I don't get in past my ankles. The ocean is scary; and I don't like strange things brushing up against my legs.

• Jared makes fun of me for not getting in the ocean past my waist. I'm gonna tell him to suck it, I have good reason for this now. Plus, I like to be able to see my lower half.

And the best quote of all - Why didn't she just swim parallel to the shore?

Thanks a lot, Poseidon.